Think of England

"Damn it," Curtis couldn't believe what he had just done.

Da Silva stood still for a second, then he pushed Curtis into the library, followed by himself, and closed the door of the storage room behind him. "Hide the night light on the shelf, behind the books. Come on, buddy."

"Shouldn't we run?"

"Don't argue with me." Da Silva removed the wires and pewter from the door frame and stuffed them into his pocket, then knelt by the keyhole, fiddling with his lockpick carefully, looking maddened. "Take off your shirt and throw it on the back of the chair. Take it off now."

Curtis was ashamed and angry with himself, although puzzled by the urgent order, he still covered his bare chest with his nightgown as Da Silva said.The sound of running footsteps can be faintly heard, and several people are rapidly approaching here.

"Come here, hurry up." Da Silva stood up and turned his back to the door of the storage room.When Curtis came over, Da Silva said eagerly, "Don't hit me."

"What—"

Dasilva grabbed Curtis' nightgown, pulled him over, and kissed his mouth.

For a second Curtis couldn't react at all.His thoughts, already scrambled by the sudden situation, panic, confusion, anger at himself and his insidious master, plus the fact that it was late at night, were now joined by the firm pair of hands pressed against his mouth. The irritation brought by his lips, the hand on the back of his head grabbed his hair and forced his face to lean forward, and the other party's stubble was scraped on his own face.He stood still, unable to move, Da Silva kicked his ankle sharply, causing Curtis to almost fall forward on top of him, and then the headlights came on, and the blinding light made him panic.

Da Silva pushed Curtis away, the force was so great that he staggered back a few steps.He turned around and there were three guns pointed at him.

He instinctively wanted to fight back, but the sense of crisis of being unarmed and outnumbered overwhelmed all thoughts.He tensed up, weighing the situation before him.

Three men in pajamas.One was the handsome servant Wesley; the other two were older, with unmistakable military stamps on their poses.All three of them carried their weapons - the latest model heavy shotgun produced by Armstrong - on their shoulders and were ready to go, all three guns aimed at Curtis.The older two were focused on him, but Wesley glanced over Curtis' shoulder, his eyes slowly widened, and he suppressed a smile.

The two parties looked at each other, and the seconds seemed like years.Curtis judged that the opponent was not going to shoot at the moment.

"Put the gun down," he ordered, "do your duty, but it's not necessary. Da Silva and I are just—" he said, pointing at Da Silva and looking aside, and the rest of the story is in His throat was dry.

Da Silva leaned his back against the door, thrusting his hips forward defiantly.His eyes were misty, his black hair was messy, and his reddish lips were parted, as if he had been kissed thoroughly.The silk nightgown was open, revealing his smooth, bare chest and dark nipples that Curtis couldn't help noticing, one of which - oh my god - wore a silver ring.

He looked unimaginably vile.Looks like someone is going to fuck him right on that door, and he'll gladly take it.

Someone, and it was obvious to the servant who it was.

Curtis felt the blood rushing to his face, he forced himself to look away, and turned to face the gun.

"Put the gun down," he tried to command.

"Please forgive me, sir." One of the older men said dumbly.He moved the muzzle of the gun down slightly, just to avoid criticism that he pointed the gun at the guest.However, Curtis was not relieved by this. "An alarm has been set off. Did you lean against this door just now? Just a little, sir?"

"This door," Da Silva repeated, a mysterious smile curling up at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, maybe a light touch. That set the alarm bells off, didn't it?"

"Perhaps so, if you lean in hard, sir."

"Or someone else—" Wesley teased, and was about to put the gun down.Wesley's smile disappeared as the grizzled man muttered warningly, and he muttered, "Sorry, Mr. March," raising his gun again.Curtis originally wanted to order him to put down the gun, but he had no choice but to give up when he thought that he would not know what to do if the other party refused.

"What an unfortunate accident," he said.He was supposed to assist Da Silva's witty but absurd improvisation somewhat, but the shame and the topless man reclining at the edge of his vision made him choke, and the words were as far as he could go. "I'm sorry if this has caused you any inconvenience."

"Sir," Marchi said indifferently, "excuse me." He said as he walked towards the storage room, lowering the muzzle of his gun, but still maintaining the ready position, Da Silva had to move to make way for him , but he wasn't going to apologize either.The other two men waited in place, weapons still raised.

Marchy tried to open the door, making sure it was still locked, and frowned at the lock. "It shouldn't be." He pushed it slightly, and then shook it vigorously a few times. "It doesn't seem to be loose. The question is why did the alarm bell go off?" He turned his head to look at Curtis again, examining it. "There's no one else here, is there, sir?"

"I have to say, there are enough people like this now." Da Silva's tone was light and mocking, without any trace of shame or guilt. "That's a little too much, so I'm going to excuse you. I should really ask your forgiveness for waking you guys, um, out of your bed." He gave Wesley a brief flick of his long eyelashes. Eye. "It's time for me to go back to my own bed, too. Or someone else's bed. Come on, honey." This was said to Curtis, with a narrow smile.

Da Silva ignored Marchi's scrutinizing gaze, so he nodded to his two subordinates, "Wesley, Preston, escort the two gentlemen back to the room."

Da Silva patted Curtis's arm to signal him to follow him. He walked ahead, passing through the corridor and the main staircase, his hips swaying from side to side.Curtis followed behind.He could feel Marci's suspicious gaze until he left the room, and the eyes of the other two followed him all the way up the stairs, down the corridor past the carcasses of bird prey in glass boxes.The guns were pointed at his unsuspecting back, their presence almost like a physical poke in his back.The hairs on his neck stood on end.

The servants stopped at the junction of the eastern corridor and watched silently as they made their way down the dark passage and stopped at last in front of the doors of two adjoining bedrooms.Curtis opened his door and lit the lamp.

Da Silva pushed him in, kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe, and began to make merciless comments on Curtis' IQ, talent, sexuality and family background in a low voice.For a poet, his diction is no different than that of a street vendor.

"I know," Curtis added when Da Silva had to stop to catch his breath, "I'm fucking stupid. I completely forgot about the siren. If you weren't quick enough, we'd be screwed." .”

"We're not out of the woods yet. Listen."

Curtis heard it, it was a very slight movement, but it didn't come from outside the door.The sound came from the other side of the wall, from a secret passage behind the wall on the side where the mirror hung.He heard a tiny grinding sound.

"They came to observe," Da Silva's voice was low and tense. "I'm not sure if Marchy believes me. You're such a bloody military man. Damn."

Curtis tightened his jaw.He put them in danger, he got them out.He kept the volume extremely low, turned his back to the mirror so as not to read his lips. "If there was a real confrontation, I have a Webley revolver in the closet. Do you have a weapon?"

"I don't use guns. You think we can make our way?"

Two armed men were watching them, and another waited downstairs.His revolver was still in the bag, unloaded.Even if there were no pursuers behind when they escaped from the villa, they would still have to cross thirty miles of unfamiliar and treacherous wilderness, and Da Silva was not the partner he would choose to fight side by side or break out of the encirclement. "The chances are not high," Curtis admitted, "but what if—"

"If we really confront each other, we lose. Maybe we can escape, but the evidence will never see the light of day." Da Silva hesitated for a moment, "Oh, fuck it. Go to bed."

"what?"

Da Silva wrapped one hand around his neck and gave him a provocative smile as he hooked a foot around his ankle and pushed him back.Curtis staggered and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

Da Silva took off his nightgown, and there was a sound of silk rubbing when the clothes slipped off. He stood upright with his bare upper body, the small ring shining silver around his dark nipples.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Smile, we are being watched." Da Silva knelt down and pulled Curtis' nightgown down his shoulders. "Just try to enjoy it, I'll do the work."

"Work?" Curtis asked hoarsely, "What──?"

"If they think we're playing tricks and you found that damn cabinet, we'll die." Da Silva leaned his mouth against Curtis's neck and said into his ear, "So we have to Make it more realistic, see? Or," he snaked a finger down Curtis's chest, "you could sit here like a sack of potatoes and make them think you weren't in the library just now. Molested me and came back with a shotgun." He looked up, his head tilted at an alluring angle. "Do you have a better idea? Because I don't."

Curtis didn't have any idea at all, because now Da Silva's hand was on his belt.A sob escaped his throat.

"Just open your mouth, it's the same for men and women," Da Silva said softly. "Come on, you did that at school too, didn't you? Just pretend you're still at Eton."

"You can't do that!"

"So what are your alternatives?"

Curtis didn't have half an alternative.Da Silva knelt in front of him, his black eyes blinking, the unreasonable silver ring flickered as his chest heaved up and down, his dexterous hands wandered around Curtis' belt and his swollen crotch between the next.

"how?"

Curtis shook his head with minimal movements.He wasn't sure what he was rejecting.

"Then lie down and die for England[1]." Da Silva pulled his trousers down, and Curtis raised his waist slightly, allowing the other to pull the fabric away.He squeezed his eyes shut and felt Da Silva's hands on the buttons of his panties, fingers brushing lightly over the front of his cock.

"Oh my God."

"Relax," Dasilva muttered, "I won't bite." As soon as he finished speaking, Curtis was enveloped by a strong feeling of warmth and humidity.

His eyelids popped open, and he saw himself reflected in the perfectly positioned mirror, with flushed cheeks, legs splayed, lying on his back, while the dark-skinned man knelt between his thighs, head bowed.

Someone is behind that mirror, seeing everything.

"I can't do it," he hissed.

Da Silva snorted dissatisfied. "I'm the one doing the drudgery. You just close your eyes."

Even if he made a bet, Curtis couldn't close his eyes at this moment.He was still staring at the mirror, and he should have thought about what was going on on the other side of the wall, but he was overwhelmed by the contrast between Da Silva's smooth, olive-coloured slender back and his own pale, muscular pectorals covered in dark blond hair.And Da Silva's mouth was working hard on his hard thick hair, and his tongue was wet, curled, and licked, and it was impossible for him to think about anything else.

It's not like the clumsy comforting he remembered in middle school, nor the awkward manual work in college.Da Silva's cheeks itched slightly against Hu Ren's thighs.The tip of his deft tongue slid over the head of Curtis's cock, pushing and squeezing, and then his mouth wrapped him completely, his lips slid down the hard shaft of his cock, sucking him deep into his throat.

Curtis made a sound like a beast.It felt too obscene, too surprising, and he didn't know why Da Silva didn't choke.He leaned back, looked down at the black-haired head and—as da Silva said, he had to do it more realistically—reached tentatively through his hair, inserting his fingers into the glossy black hair, Feel the head rise and fall as the other man's mouth and throat move.Da Silva rubbed against Curtis' leather glove with one cheek like a cat.His throat vibrates with a soft grunt, whispering against Curtis's stem, the sound running through his blood.Curtis bit his lip.

Make it more realistic.He started to move his hips, pushing himself almost without willpower into Dasilva's deft, beautiful, dirty mouth.Da Silva's fingers lingered on his side, his mouth tightened beyond imagination to suck, up and down, Curtis forgot about the voyeur, about Lafayette, about everything else.He couldn't feel anything but the hot mouth resting on his body, and couldn't see anything but the mirror reflection of the dark angel between his legs.He pushed harder, tugging at the other man's hair to draw him closer, and da Silva made a sound that sounded like a moan of pleasure, digging his fingers into his thigh, pulling him closer, taking his advance without a fight .God, he does like that, he likes Curtis' thick hard-on in his mouth...

Curtis felt his balls tighten painfully, and although it was much faster than usual, he could barely remember the basic etiquette, "I'm going to come," he warned hoarsely.

Da Silva moved his lips upwards and left completely. Curtis only had time to regret his chivalry for a second, and the other party lowered his head again, and the movement smoothly included his entire body at once, a wave of strong sensuality Wash his skin.

"God da Silva, stop, I'm going to cum in your mouth!"

Da Silva grunted, sucked even harder, and used his throat muscles as before, tensing and closing, and then Curtis came with a muffled growl.He grabbed Da Silva's head hard, not caring about whether he would choke him, his waist and hips stiffened, and he ejaculated the semen one after another.

He lets go of da Silva's hair, feels pomade on his bare left palm, and bounces back, frozen in amazement.Between his crotch, he heard the swallowing sound of the kneeling man.

Curtis could only stare at the ceiling.

Da Silva stood up, went to the bedside table, poured himself a glass of water, and rinsed it in his mouth.

He walked over, the bed creaked as he sat down, and he didn't touch Curtis. "Are you ok?"

Curtis couldn't say whether it was good or bad at all.He glanced at Da Silva.His black hair was disheveled and fell a few strands forward, so that he no longer seemed worldly or posing, but more wild, real, relaxed and intimate.His lips are swollen from stress or lust.The silver ring gleamed on his narrow, firm nipple.

Does he want Curtis to reciprocate?

"You look like you're about to have a heart attack," Dasilva said. "I'm not sure if I should be honored or not."

Only then did Curtis feel that the sky was about to collapse, and the madness of just a few minutes ago was completely driven away. "My God," he yelled, "don't you know—they're probably fucking filming it!" He said as he sat up and pulled his dressing gown back on, suddenly desperate to cover himself.

"I don't know, will they take pictures?" Da Silva rolled his eyes, "The point is to let them take pictures."

Curtis was furious, "We might be arrested!"

"It's better than dead. Don't panic, for God's sake. We cheated in the library, never expecting them to film this episode, which means we don't know the inside story, so we know the alarm just now. It's just a misunderstanding. We are out of danger, as long as you don't go crazy and make them suspicious." He said to Curtis with a smile on his face, "You're welcome."

Curtis couldn't believe that he said such a thing. "What if they take those photos and turn them over to the police?" Oh my god, enjoy 5 minutes of da Silva's mouth and get two years in prison for gross indecency.

"They're blackmailers, you idiot, they won't call the police. I need to get the pictures back, that's all." Da Silva's composure is infuriating. "Calm down. It's okay."

"All right? You probably don't mind getting caught in such disrepute-"

Da Silva scowled. "I'm more concerned about being caught when I went through the master's secret cabinet. And that incident, let me remind you, was caused by your reckless breaking of the wire."

"I know I did it, damn it!"

"Hush," Dasilva hissed. "Before you accuse me of indecently violating your invulnerable flesh, do you have a better idea of ​​how I should clear the suspicion of your stupidity?"

Curtis was sure he didn't say that, and he didn't want Da Silva to speak for him, but he couldn't refute the two things at the same time. "Yeah, we're better off in the hell we're in now?"

"At least we didn't have our heads buried in the redwood forest?"

"That's almost the same!" Curtis had to use all his strength to keep his voice in a whisper, "You may be very used to posing for obscene photos──"

"Yes, it's so pitiful. The whole process just now must have been very difficult." Da Silva's low tone was full of cold anger, "You are a warrior who dedicated himself to the motherland, but you underestimated your acting skills. I really Dare to swear, you didn't seem to suffer too much through this disgusting torture." He threw a vicious and false smile at Curtis. "You did shoot after all."

This was too much, Curtis subconsciously retorted, "You made me cum!"

He knew how childish that sounded, but Da Silva was already on his feet. "Well, I imposed my desires on you, please forgive me. Next time you can pick your own locks, collect your own mess, and suck your own cock. Good night, Mr. Curtis."

He walked away with his head held high.Curtis glared at him from behind.

He sat on the bed and stared at the void for a while, then unconsciously washed and prepared to fall asleep.He tried not to look in the mirror, not to think, not to pay attention to the movement in the corridor—quietly, of course, and that was Da Silva.

He turned off the light and lay on the bed, staring into the darkness.

He had to, that's for sure.What they had discovered was beyond doubt, and the Armstrongs would not hold back their secret.Armstrong's servants were watching their every move suspiciously.He—they—could do anything, something had to be done.Curtis will not be able to think of a way to reach Silva in another 100 years, but since he still can't find an alternative, he has no position to complain.

He couldn't pretend it was torture, that's for sure.Sure, he enjoyed it, but who wouldn't?He was sure any man would feel the same pleasure.With the bliss of that tight warm throat and wandering tongue, anyone could come, let alone a chronically insufferable guy.Men have needs, and Da Silva certainly knows how to fill them.

He was sure da Silva was having fun while sucking him.The noises he made, the pleasant murmurs in his throat, the small moans... did that change anything?Let this scene, how should I put it, become a real split of the sleeves?

Definitely not going to change.Whether Dasilva liked the behavior just now or not, it made no difference to Curtis.The guy might be a sissy, but beneath his artificial and hard shell, deep down, he seemed to be a decent guy.Curtis didn't want him to feel sick because of this kind of thing.

If da Silva is not a so-called gay, things will be troublesome, he only now thinks of this.What if he is not?If it was Curtis who had to kneel in front of Da Silva and put him in his mouth...

He was thinking wildly.It's time for him to sleep.

He has spent too many tossing and turning nights here, and he can't wake up for long due to lack of sleep. His years of military service have also taught him how to clear his mind, no matter how many worries he has during the day.As his consciousness drifted away, the last remaining thought was not the contents of the locker, or the ensuing conflict, but the soothing, loving rub of Da Silva's cheek on his leather glove.

[1] The original text "lie back and think of England" was a dark and joking expression popular in Britain at that time.